


The campfire

by Theatrebaby88



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatrebaby88/pseuds/Theatrebaby88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a night at the smugglers camp</p>
            </blockquote>





	The campfire

A low campfire crackled and gave a soft glow over the men and woman sat round it.  They were all laughing and joking, each one of them getting rowdier as the ale flowed. What a night. They drank and sang the comedic songs they had heard from the bards and minstrels in the taverns and towns they passed through.  A few of the men even had the cheek, or was it courage, to ask Isolde for a dance, to which she obliged, her own partner, Tristan, not minding a bit, laughing slightly as one of the men made a right pigs ear of it.

As the night drew in and the camp fire dimmed, so did the pace of the songs. The men where thinking back to their homes, their families, women they had left behind, and they let their songs show their true feelings. And then there was a silence as they let themselves think.

After a short time, the silence was broken and the men looked up towards a sound. It was soft, and sweet, barely audible.

 " _An bhfuil chailleann tú riamh ar do thalamh bhaile? An raibh tú pined riamh ann? Do máithreacha airm nó aithreacha aoibh gháire , nó lover ar glacadh te . An bhfuil tú ag smaoineamh ar riamh de óige , nó de cuimhní fada ó shin imithe ? D'fhág mé Baile Átha Cliath i mo dhiaidh , ar mo athair a dhíol . Agus do gach duine tá mé le fáil ar fud an talamh , fada liom uaim na bealaí bhaile . Na blianta a rith siad chomh tapa , cosúil leis na tonnta ar an gcósta , mar atá mé chun breathnú trasna na farraige , i dtreo bhruacha na hÉireann , ..."_  


 

Isolde could not finish the song but glanced up as the men and Tristan looked at her, a few of these big, burly men had tears on their cheeks, not from the words, as they did not understand the language, but from the tone, the genuine sadness that came through as she sang.

 

Isolde looked around and gave an awkward smile. "Are you men alright?"

 

"That was lovely.." One of the men said, wiping his cheek.

 

Isolde gave a faint smile.  "Thank you...but enough of this, hm..." She said, then helped begin one of the earlier, more livelier songs they had been singing.

 

The fire was dead, it now lay in smoking embers. The men had gone to sleep and Tristan lay in the back of the Wagon, his arm draped over Isolde.

 

He kissed the back of her neck and down to her shoulder. "I love you, my darling."

 

Isolde gave a sleepy half smile as she pressed her back closer against his chest; "Mmn, I love you too, my love.."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
